


What It Means

by keep_me_alone



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Body Dysphoria, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Mission Fic, Negotiations, Padawan Obi-Wan, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Whump, binding injury, binding safety, improper binding, trans obi wan, unsafe binding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7534336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_me_alone/pseuds/keep_me_alone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan is a smol, closeted trans guy who doesn't really know how to bind or have very much figured out yet, but an injury forces him to talk with Qui-Gon about what he's going through. Probably going to end up a little bit long as they struggle to accept the new terms of their relationship and how a dysphoric Jedi is supposed to relate to the Force. </p><p>This isn't a Qui-Gon's a bad dude sort of fic, it's a Qui-Gon doesn't really know what's going on and honestly trying his best, though that sometimes isn't really good enough kind of fic. </p><p>Also kind of an Obi-whump, not really sorry abt that.</p><p>UPDATED!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obi-Wan is being Bad and Naughty pls don't imitate him Google can help you with binding safely, this fic can't (unless it's things to avoid probably) stay safe my siblings!
> 
> Special thanks to gayspacehippie & temporalsilence for the initial encouragement and of course to markwatnae for giving this plot bunny life by well giving me the plot! Love everyone who supported this I literally could not have done it alone

Obi-Wan woke up slowly, without opening his eyes or altering his breath. The air was sticky and close. Trasa’s weather was similar to a summer on Coruscant, minus the climate control. He huffed and buried his face in the pillow, hoping to find a cool spot, but the pillows and sheets were as warm and uncomfortable as the rest of the room. Seeing no possibility of another fragment of sleep, he reluctantly rolled out of bed. Qui-Gon likely would’ve been in any minute to drag him out anyways. It seemed one thing his master never could understand was his desire to stay in bed as long as possible. Qui-Gon was attuned to the Living Force; he rose with the dawn and its quiet birds.

As he stood, Obi-Wan made sure his loose white shirt obscured the shape of his breasts as much as possible. Qui-Gon wouldn’t care; he was as casual about nudity as he was anything else. Obi-Wan doubted his master would blink if he emerged completely topless, but this wasn’t about that. He tucked his chin, trying to see if his chest looked flat at all. Displeased with the result, he huffed again and left for the fresher.

As was the case most mornings, Qui-Gon was already up. He sat meditating at the low table, his damp hair braided neatly down his back, a fresh pot of tea steeping before him. Obi-Wan slunk quietly to the fresher door. Perhaps sensing that his Padawan wasn’t in the mood for conversation, Qui-Gon remained serene and blessedly silent.

Obi-Wan undressed quickly without really looking at himself. He stepped into the shower and sighed as the cool water poured over him. It was a welcome change from the closeness of the shared apartment. Even with the all the windows wide open, the breeze was negligible and the humidity, pressing.

Normally, Obi-Wan liked to take his time showering, something that Qui-Gon often commented on. However this required more focus than he currently possessed. So he scrubbed quickly, daydreaming of another time and place where he could have the perfect male body. Of course Jedi were encouraged to be mindful of their actions at all times, but he figured a little mindlessness, a little rushing wouldn’t hurt given the circumstances.

Not wanting Qui-Gon to sense something amiss, he deliberately lingered a few minutes more before shutting off the water. With a lazy hand gesture, he summoned a towel. It slid smoothly over the skin of his legs, drying the tangle of short hairs, efficiently over his breasts, the space under them, then with a grimace, quickly between his legs and he was done. Mostly painless, he told himself. To dress was another matter.

His breasts were large. Large enough that before he had begun to hide them, girls had been envious. Large enough that people leered. Large enough that he’d grown uncomfortable when the folds of his robes had draped over them, leaving him feeling obscene and exposed. He didn’t want to see them. He didn’t want anyone to.

Obi-Wan tugged a compression bra onto his still wet skin. The fabric rolled up and he yanked it down again until he was covered. Standing on the tips of his toes, he could see in the small mirror that it wasn’t nearly enough. He layered another over top. It was uncomfortable, restrictive around the bottom of his ribcage. He thought wistfully of Qui-Gon’s tall, broad figure. The way his muscles rippled seamlessly through a kata. It was difficult not to compare himself to his master. Obi-Wan was an entire foot shorter, smaller in the shoulders and, he tucked his chin, no visible pectoral muscles anywhere. Obi-Wan sighed. Qui-Gon would be wondering where he was soon, and he didn’t want to be in trouble for lingering in front of the mirror. It wouldn’t be the first time and it wasn’t like Qui-Gon understood his Padawan’s seemingly endless vanity. Obi-Wan bit his lip hard. He pulled on a small, stiff undershirt over the two bras. Peeking in the mirror revealed he’d almost flattened his chest. The arrangement was definitely uncomfortable, but he could breathe ok and it still wasn’t painful, so Obi-Wan was fairly sure he wasn’t doing damage.

**

Obi-Wan rolled into the sit up.

“That’s ten more,” Qui-Gon told him calmly, circling around him. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows drew together with a sharp intake of breath and a determined nod. The burn in his abs was indistinguishable from the fire already blazing in his fragile ribs.

“How… many more now… master?” Obi-Wan gasped. Stinging sweat dripped into his eyes, flew from his head when he shook it.

“ _I_ will tell you when you are finished, Padawan. Relax your neck; you’re going to hurt yourself.” A quick, almost dirty look. _Easy for you to say._ He was breathing through his mouth, sucking in air in short, almost panicked gasps, grunting with the effort of each perfectly formed exercise. There wasn’t enough air in the world to fill his lungs. _Muscles contract, expand, breath Padawan, contract, expand_. That was all his world had narrowed to. Dimly, he wondered if he’d be sick.

“That’s enough Obi-Wan.”  He  flopped back onto the floor, still wheezing, breath still escaping his greedy lungs. “You may take five minutes of meditative rest.” When Obi-Wan didn’t immediately move, Qui-Gon loomed over him. “I didn’t know you were so eager to continue with our exercises, my Padawan.” The threat had the intended effect. Obi-Wan shot into a sitting position. He placed trembling hands on his knees and fought his breath for control.

“ _Relax,_ Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon exhaled smoothly, “feel the Force in your breath, in the blood coursing through your veins, in the heated air. It surrounds you. It surrounds all of us. You need not struggle to find it.” Obi-Wan frowned, letting himself feel the Force without reaching for it. Success. His breath flowed more easily, though still restricted by the cage of his makeshift binder. His eyes drifted shut, the energy in the room pulsing and so palpably alive.

Qui-Gon watched his Padawan meditate, paying attention to the moments when Obi-Wan’s consciousness slipped beneath the waves of the Force. The exercise hadn’t been too intense. In their confined quarters, Qui-Gon had decided to disallow both running and sparring while they were the Trasix’s guests. Much to Obi-Wan’s dismay, of course, but this was why his Padawan’s apparent exhaustion was so baffling. Worrying about it would be to no effect, so for now he’d keep an eye on the situation. Qui-Gon wasn’t prone to anxiety. However there was just something about Obi-Wan that seemed to provoke it in him.

When Obi-Wan hovered just on the edge of sleep, close to ten minutes later, Qui-Gon nudged him awake. In ten seconds he’d banked his drowsiness to something manageable.  

“We’ll skip the kata tonight. I think some rest is in order before we are invited to dine with the Trasix representatives. The Raauz  have agreed to renegotiate their borders granted some provisions of course and peace talks will require our full attention.” It took Obi-Wan a moment to process this and to respond.

“…So our job is to ensure no one’s taken advantage of?”

“Correct,” from his tone, Obi-Wan gathered he had missed something. His brow furrowed.

“And… to protect the Trasix from a possible ambush?” He was unsure.

“And to prevent violence if at all possible.” Qui-Gon amended. “I would also like to remind you that you are present to _observe_ only.” Obi-Wan smiled sheepishly, the suggestion of a dimple gracing his cheek.

“Yes, Master,” The quick bow bordered on impertinent. He resisted the impulse to point out that the last civil war had only _technically_ been his fault. Really it had been inevitable. Qui-Gon read it in his face.  He snorted, gave Obi-Wan’s braid a short tug.

“Come along brat, we’ve work to do.


	2. Chapter 2

The meeting was set firmly in the middle of disputed territory. The Jedi arrived just behind the Trasix, who had sent the official request. They trailed after the delegation, hands tucked into long billowing sleeves. An impressive sight against the vast emptiness of desert surrounding them.

The air’s stillness was oppressive. Sweat, previously beaded along Obi-Wan’s brow and back poured off of him. Warm and sticky, it offered no relief from the pressing heat. Qui-Gon seemed not to notice, striding towards the white pavilion. Vehicles with armed guards had been left a safe distance from the meeting place. The groups that approached each other now, though impressive, were unarmed at Qui-Gon’s request. “If it was to be negotiation,” he’d said, “then surely such measures were unnecessary at best and a provocation to hostility at worst.”

The breath caught in Obi-Wan’s chest as they approached the Rauux. They were tall, imposing creatures with long, spiked frills, dripping gem encrusted jewelry that flashed in the golden sun. His breath unstuck. He resumed the proper impassivity.

The negotiations did not go well. As planetary leaders, the Trasix were willing to make no concessions. They held the majority of land and as they had no trouble growing food in more fertile areas, didn’t share the Rauux’s desperation for agreement. Several times during the meeting Qui-Gon was distracted by Obi-Wan’s muffled coughing fits. His attention drifting slightly from the bickering factions, he wondered if Obi-Wan had caught something. He dismissed the thought as irrelevant to the present moment, but the uneasiness stayed.

A few hours later, Obi-Wan had completely drained his canteen. A few hours after that he was berating himself for not rationing it. He resisted the un-Jedi like urge to rest his head on the table. If Qui-Gon could sit through a full day of negotiations, however frustrating, then he would as well. He tried to focus, tried not to think about how much longer the talks might last. Instead of understanding, the meeting seemed to have fostered the growing animosity. Possibly inspired by the Rauux’s desire for land, the Trasix seemed likely to demand territory as well. Obi-Wan didn’t think there was much to be done. The Rauux would not allow themselves to be subjugated, and the Trasix seemed to desire the mineral rich land the Rauux currently lived on. His mouth thinned. There would be no easy answers here.

Several Rauux were growing more and more agitated. Frills raised from crown and down backs at the Trasix’s speech. As the Rauux’s necks elongated, their breath sounded as sharp hisses.

“All of this is in our history.” His horned head leant his words authority like a crown. “This land was conquered by the Trasix more than two centuries ago. It is our divine right and you Rax will not have it.” Obi-Wan’s gaze drifted away from the scene to Qui-Gon’s face.

 _‘Rax?’_ He asked silently. Without looking away from the unfolding drama, Qui-Gon projected a picture of a lizard.

 _‘A slur,’_ Obi-Wan exhaled softly, so things were going as badly as they’d feared. “I call for a short recess,” Qui-Gon announced when it was clear the Trasix was finished speaking. “In order for _both_ parties to clear their heads.” After a moment of tense silence people rose to go. Rauux and Trasix retreated to respective sides. The Jedi were left sitting alone.

Obi-Wan felt like complaining about the heat, complaining that they should’ve had negotiations inside where the harsh sun couldn’t reach them, complaining about his aching chest and dry throat. One look at Qui-Gon’s face convinced him silence was the better option. His master was visibly tense; scowling in the direction the Trasix had left. A cough pushed its way from Obi-Wan’s lungs, phlegm crackling painfully. Qui-Gon looked at him sharply and Obi-Wan’s already red face flushed further.

“Sorry, master,” he muttered, sipping vainly from his empty canteen. Each breath made the persistent ache in his chest worse.

“Obi-Wan-,” shouting cut him short. Qui-Gon was on his feet in an instant, walking purposefully towards the Trasix making the noise. “Wait here,” Obi-Wan nodded. He leaned his forehead against his hand, wiping away some of the sweat. He was trying not to pay attention to the rivers running down his collar when a rattling hiss made him jump.

“Why should they be upset?” snapped the Rauux behind his shoulder, “they’ve occupied our lands for hundreds of years. They grow fat and lazy while our people starve.” His neck frill rose as he spoke. His language was difficult to decipher as it more and more closely resembled hissing than speech.

Obi-Wan lost the thread of this effusion entirely as the Rauux moved towards the opposing camp. Obi-Wan muttered a curse. He rose and tangled with his chair, almost falling as the world tilted crazily and a wave of nausea swept over him. He crashed against the table, but now the Rauux was running to the Trasix and he had to follow. He was sprinting, but the world wasn’t moving quite right. He had slowed or the world had slowed and nothing was really important any more, was it? Pain knifed through his ribs and he wasn’t sure if he had fallen or if something had gone wrong with gravity, but the ground was rushing to meet him and the edges of his vision were going dark. And everything now, was dark.

Qui-Gon felt the loss of Obi-Wan's presence as soon as he collapsed. He turned to see the Rauux marching towards him. Feeling the Trasix rush to meet them, he called out a single command.

"Enough." he cut the air with his hand. Every person in the area was forced a few steps back. An unaware Trasix was knocked over completely. Grim faced, with a raised but steady voice, Qui-Gon addressed them. “Today’s negotiations are at an end. Officially, neither party will be held at fault. We will resume on the next rotation.” No one moved. “Now go,” he spoke with the incontrovertible authority of a god.

His lungs had filled with the power of the Force and those present were compelled to obey. In the next moment he was kneeling in the sand beside Obi-Wan, checking his pulse, listening to his breathing. Something was wrong. His breaths were raspy and shallow, his pulse was racing.

Qui-Gon scooped him up. Obi-Wan stirred with a small pained noise, his eyes fluttering half open.

“The Rauux,” Obi-Wan mumbled.

“It’s taken care of,” Qui-Gon assured him. “Now relax. I’m getting you out of here.”

“ ‘m fine.” Obi-Wan whispered. It would have been more convincing without the whimper of pain hiding just behind the words. It was the weakest protest against medical attention that Qui-Gon had ever heard from him.

They’d been staying at a Trasix city nearby. He hated asking non-humanoid races for help in medical emergencies, but it seemed that for now there was really no choice. He only hoped Obi-Wan would be well enough to get off planet quickly if war erupted.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ. 1 sorry for the delay life is being a pain   
> 2\. sorry for Tahl I'm not very familiar w her   
> 3\. Obi-Wan’s abt to be hella misgendered so sorry for that this is not a Friendly chapter  
> Pretty sure I'll be quicker on the next chapter also I had a crazy hard time w this one

Qui-Gon had been waiting in the hall for an unacceptably long time. Of course, patience _was_ a virtue, but some situations called for more direct measures. He let himself into the hospital room. His arms folded loosely over his broad chest, and his mouth tightened as he surveyed the small space.

“How is she?” The Trasix jumped at Qui-Gon’s voice. He turned around, clutching his data reader to his chest.

“The good news,” he exhaled, “is that her injuries aren’t life threatening. She was suffering from some kind of,” he squinted at his notes, “heat… stroke. Which we gave her fluids for. Probably caused by _lack_ of fluids and,” he trailed off, looking up at Qui-Gon, “sun exposure? Humans are sensitive to sun exposure,” he said more firmly. Qui-Gon pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled slowly.

“Why is she still unconscious?”

“There were… there were some complications,” Qui-Gon raised both eyebrows. “It looks like she’s broken a rib or two.” The Trasix offered.

“Stars end, how did she manage that?” Qui-Gon asked, almost to himself.

“Well human females wear… these… things,” the Trasix gesticulated vaguely, looking for a word. “to… compress their mammary glands. And anyways it seems your apprentice used too many and over compressed her ribcage, likely causing the breaks.” Qui-Gon tilted his head slightly, brow furrowed.

“Too many?” The doctor didn’t respond, just made a distressed gesture, almost a shrug. “When can I speak with her?” Qui-Gon asked finally. Things would be much simpler if Obi-Wan could explain them.

“Well, like I said, that’s the complication. It might be several hours to a few days. The medication, ah she seems to have… reacted poorly to the medication.” Qui-Gon exhaled very slowly. He wondered how many human patients the Trasix had treated before. Obviously the number wasn’t high. Deliberately, he let his eyes briefly close. When he opened them again he fixed the Trasix with a hard look.

“What did you give her?” The doctor told him and Qui-Gon tried not to let his frustration leak into his voice. “You gave her a drug she’s allergic to. Did it cause respiratory failure?” He sounded so much calmer than he felt.

“We caught it quickly and don’t believe there will be any lasting damage.” Qui-Gon supressed a sharp reply.

“That will be all,” he said firmly, going to Obi-Wan’s bed. If her ribs hadn’t been broken before the chest compressions, well they certainly were now. And no medical droid to leave her with while he continued negotiations.

Qui-Gon brushed his hand over the side of Obi-Wan’s face, touching their Force connection. The only response was a faint, queasy murmur.  He thought to try healing, but discarded the idea almost immediately. He wasn’t a particularly gifted healer in the best of circumstances. Unconscious people were difficult. Drugged people were an entirely different matter.

Qui-Gon lowered himself into the chair next to Obi-Wan’s bed. If he’d gotten here sooner, if so many Trasix hadn’t gotten in the way. He sighed, gently centred himself in the present. What was done, was done and there was no sense in assigning blame.

He lightly touched their bond again, a simple reassurance so his Padawan would know he hadn’t gone. If Obi-Wan could even feel it. An unnamed feeling squeezed Qui-Gon’s chest. He thumbed his com.

“I was starting to wonder if I’d hear from you at all Qui.” Tahl’s tone was light and teasing. Like a cool breeze winding through this desert.

“I imagine you’ll wish you hadn’t. Obi-Wan and I have found ourselves some trouble.” He spoke mildly, but Tahl knew him well enough to detect the edge of iron behind his words.

“What happened?” She asked seriously. Qui-Gon relayed a brief, grim summary of the situation. In the ensuing silence, he sagged forward, keenly feeling every one of his years.

“I feel like I’ve been cast adrift,” he admitted finally.

“And so, barring the assistance of the Force, you’ve come to beg my help,” teasing again.

“The Force tells me to leap from a window, not how to speak with a moody Padawan,” He replied sharply.

“Such temper,” Tahl sighed, “Not to worry though, I have an idea of what could be troubling them.”

“ _Broken ribs._ If it’s purely masochism and self-recrimination, then I have failed her. Badly.”

“Have you considered the possibility that they didn’t do this intentionally?” Tahl asked gently.

“That she accidentally wore so many layers of clothing her ribs snapped? No I hadn’t considered it.” He replied shortly.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Tahl snapped back, “You’re not listening to me.” Static crackled for a long moment. Qui-Gon didn’t reply. “I’m saying, I do think they were deliberately compressing their chest, but I don’t think they meant to hurt themself. Am I starting to get through your thick skull yet?” Qui-Gon tugged his nose, thinking.

“You’ll have to spell it out,”

“How would you feel if you had breasts, Qui-Gon?” He straightened, wincing slightly.

“I think I see where this is going.”

“As a human male, you’d likely be uncomfortable with that. People would treat you differently, even somewhere as progressive as the Temple, you’d likely feel isolated, misunderstood. But you’re a Jedi, you are not your body. So you feel worse. You shouldn’t be so attached to gross matter; _you_ are a luminous being.” Qui-Gon opened his mouth to protest, shifting imperceptibly.

“Don’t argue Qui-Gon. I’m not finished. I don’t need to be in a room with you to know you’re uncomfortable right now. The reason you’re uncomfortable is because you and I both know that that’s what you would have told them. You and any number of other masters that they might have been tempted to tell.

“Obi-Wan isn’t stupid. They’ve figured that out. You need to talk to them when they wake up. More to the point, you need to _listen_ to them. Ask what they want to be called, ask if they’re a man or somewhere else entirely, ask without trying to _fix them._ They don’t need to be fixed, Qui. They need a little understanding from their Master.” Qui-Gon was silent for a long time. He smoothed Obi-Wan’s hair. The traditional Padawan cut.

“I’ll talk to her when she wakes up.” He said. “Thank you, Tahl.” She sighed over the com.

“Keep in mind that they might not want to be called ‘she’ anymore. You’ll have to ask about that.”

“I’ll ask them when they wake up,” he replied absently. He was wondering how this would change things, how long Obi-Wan had felt this way, ashamed, unable to speak about it. He’d examine those emotions later, for now he tamped them down. He had a war to stop.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight this chapter's a little violent and there's some uncomfy misunderstanding at the end, but yeah I think this fic is going to get long so bear w me <3

The peace talks collapsed the next morning. Amid hurled slurs and insults, the Trasix announced their intent to reconquer the Rauux. Qui-Gon was informed his presence was no longer needed or welcome.

By the time he had left the table, weapons were being drawn, armed reinforcements were arriving. He didn’t spare either party a backward glance. He’d done his duty by them, kept the Rauux from initial violence, tried to talk the Trasix down. Neither was interested in peace. They’d ignored him. They’d brought concealed weapons. They’d spat in the face of the concordance they claimed to desperately want. He’d done his duty to the Order and to the Force it served.

By that afternoon, heavy artillery shook the city and shattered the silence. Qui-Gon grimly reminded himself that not every planet could be saved. He was almost glad Obi-Wan was unaware of the destruction around them.

By nightfall, Qui-Gon had constructed a plan to get them both from the city. He’d seen Obi-Wan briefly. His eyes had fluttered open and shut a few times and he’d mumbled something before drifting off again. Qui-Gon had hoped that by waiting for night, Obi-Wan might be well enough to sneak out on his own two feet, but the Force had not been with him. So he gathered up his drugged Padawan, holding him to his chest with both arms. It left him vulnerable if he was attacked, but with Obi-Wan’s injuries anything less was out of the question.

Technically, the pair _were_ protected as peacekeepers by Galactic law, but in the Outer Rim, such mandates were difficult to enforce. The city was no longer safe. A deep, resounding explosion, closer than was comfortable. Qui-Gon inched to peer around the corner. It was an open courtyard. He weighed the risk of cutting through, versus the extra time it would take to hug the walls. Both paths were fraught.

 He cut through the courtyard. They’d almost made it to the middle, almost under the boughs of a sheltering tree, when the Force sang out a warning. He sprang forward as a shot shattered the stones behind him. Without ceremony, or as much care as he would’ve liked, Qui-Gon dropped Obi-Wan at the base of the tree. He turned to face the threat, lightsaber hissing to life. He slid into Ataru’s opening automatically, saber gripped easily in both hands, elbow drawn back.

Three of them. One with the blaster and two with vibroshivs. They’d entered the courtyard the same side as him, slightly to the right. Grimly, he opened himself to the Force and waited. They didn’t keep him long.

The one with the blaster fired as they approached. The other two broke into a dead sprint. It was immediately obvious that they were civilians, or otherwise completely untrained militia. It was a simple matter for Qui-Gon to deflect the shots that actually came near him. The broader Trasix swung his blade wildly as he closed.

“You _did_ this,” he snarled. Qui-Gon made no reply, merely twisted away. Only the smallest fraction of his attention was focused on the fight. If he responded aggressively, all three would be dead in moments. That outcome was… distasteful. Running, with Obi-Wan in his condition was not an option. The Force pinged another threat. Half turning, and with a kick that sent the smaller Trasix sprawling, Qui-Gon saw two more Trasix enter the courtyard. It was clear, even from the handling of their blasters that they were much more skilled than the three he was currently fighting.

 He held position, swatting away an off-balance stab, dodging a hail of blaster fire he was hard pressed to deflect. He couldn’t cross to attack without leaving Obi-Wan defenceless. Flipping backwards, he simultaneously intercepted a shot aimed at his Padawan and slammed his feet into the tall Trasix’s chest. Bones cracked. He wouldn’t be getting up again.

Without noticing, Qui-Gon had been drawn slightly towards the two marksmen. Fighting on both sides, he’d left an opening for the first Trasix whose shot hurtled towards his Padawan. Who miraculously, was on his feet and deflecting the energy bolt. Sharp cracks of pain lanced through their bond with Obi-Wan’s every movement.  His ability to shield was still dampened by the drugs in his system. Obi-Wan seemed to be on the verge of collapse, held up only by the Force flowing through his veins and the urgent alarm it called to him.

Qui-Gon was abruptly brought back to his own fight as a shiv grazed his arm. He grunted, jerked back as blood began to stream from the wound. He brought his saber diagonally across his body to block a well placed shot. Reversing the motion, he whipped the hilt of his saber up and against his attacker’s skull. Two down. He glanced at Obi-Wan as he advanced on the pair across the courtyard. Three down. Gray and unsteady, Obi-Wan had begun a halting approach towards the two remaining Trasix. Qui-Gon shook his head sharply. Obi-Wan ignored him, saber almost dragging on the stones, he continued his progress. He was still wearing Qui-Gon’s heavy robe and as he stumbled, the clumsy knot he’d closed it with fell undone, exposing the mottled canvas of his ribs. Horrified, he fumbled to close the robe one-handed, his attention sharply diverted from his enemies.

As the Force swirled in alarm, he looked up. His legs were swept out from under him and he crashed onto his back as a red bolt streaked over his head. Obi-Wan gasped for air as Qui-Gon darted past, saber sweeping through the air to cut neatly through one Trasix’s blaster and bite deep into his hand, severing multiple clawed fingers.

The other Trasix dropped their blaster and ran. The first merely stared at his hand. Qui-Gon gestured almost apologetically before knocking the Trasix out with a single punch. One casualty, two possibly maimed, but three were still alive and mostly unharmed. The outcome wasn’t as bad as he’d feared.

Deactivating his saber, he turned to where Obi-Wan had fallen. His Padawan was pale, eyes tightly shut, breath coming in shallow, pained gasps. He knelt, placing a hand on Obi-Wan’s chest, just under his collarbone.

“Breathe,” he ordered, beginning to build a shield between Obi-Wan and his pain, helping to bleed it off into the Force. “That was extremely foolish, my young Padawan,” he radiated disapproval.

Removing his tabards, he began to tightly bind his arm. There was a fair amount of blood and the cut was deep enough to need a healer, but nothing major had been damaged. Both of them would be fine soon enough.  

“You tripped me,” a bold accusation.

“Would you have preferred I let you rejoin the Force? That shot was well aimed.” Obi-Wan opened his mouth to argue. Qui-Gon gave him a hard look as he finished trying off the rough bandage. “We will discuss it _after_ we are no longer in an active war-zone,” he paused. “It seems we have much to talk about, Padawan.” Whatever colour had returned to Obi-Wan’s cheeks drained. Qui-Gon’s mouth twisted. He sent Obi-Wan a fleeting feeling of regret through their bond as he helped him up. He didn’t understand why that only increased the amount of fear rolling in the Force.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Obi-Wan has some internalized transphobia or whatever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, this chapter was particularly difficult to write. Lemme know if you guys want me to keep going with this bc there's sooo many places I could take this or I could wrap it up in a few chapters.

The trip to the ship was otherwise uneventful. The ragged pair found their way silently and past a few more Trasix with little trouble. Mercifully, their ship was still at the dock where they’d left it, in no way worse for wear for the time they’d been absent.

Obi-Wan watched apprehensively as Qui-Gon wordlessly assumed control of the ship. As much as he hated flying, it was normally his duty, one he performed often and well. He sat silently in the co-pilot’s position, brooding.

He was in trouble; he knew that much. Qui-Gon hadn’t mentioned his dramatic collapse or the intense damage to his chest. Usually after he’d gotten into a particularly foolish scrape, Qui-Gon would lecture or joke, as the situation warranted. This looking the other way was unbearable. Obi-Wan couldn’t even begin to think of a punishment that would fit this crime. He’d lied, acted recklessly, his actions had caused self-injury. If Qui-Gon was feeling especially severe, his own injury might also be considered. Obi-Wan’s stomach churned unpleasantly. It would be a miracle if he wasn’t suspended. Or worse. When he spoke, his voice was firmer than he felt.

“I am truly sorry for my actions, Master. I have acted in a manner ill-befitting a Jedi. There is no excuse for my poor behaviour and I accept any punishment you deem fit.” There was a lengthy pause. Obi-Wan kept his head down, struggling to maintain his shields and the anxiety they contained.

“Padawan?” An abrupt, sidelong glance. So his Master required further explanation for the formality, the anxiety.

“I disobeyed Master, I was reckless, I-,” his courage failed him. “I-,” softer, even less certain, “I concealed the truth.” Qui-Gon considered this for a moment, gaze going back over the console.

“Recklessness and disobedience are hardly unusual offences. Concealing the truth though…” he trailed off thoughtfully. Obi-Wan waited for his sentence. “I wouldn’t normally call something like this a lie, even of omission. You are entitled to _some_ privacy in your life, Padawan.” Idly, he stroked his beard. “But this particular secret did result in personal injury.” He weighed what punishment that would merit. Obviously something non-physical. “For the first two charges I think two days in the Archives with Madame Nu should cool your head. As for the other, a written report on the dangers of excessive chest compression.”

“That’s- that’s it?” Obi-Wan asked, finally looking up. He remembered to close his mouth a moment later.

“I suppose I can lend you to Madame Nu for an extra day.” Qui-Gon replied pleasantly. Obi-Wan’s emotions tumbled through the Force around them. Too many, too confusing to be contained or simply breathed away.

“But Master,” he protested, his expression turning from astonishment to anguish.

“Do _not_ argue with me, Obi-Wan.”

“I should be suspended for at least three weeks, put under investigation-,” Qui-Gon raised a hand, cutting him off.

“Do you want to be investigated?”

“Yes! No? I don’t know?” Qui-Gon raised both eyebrows.

“As I am your master, I think _I_ am still responsible for your discipline?” Obi-Wan opened his mouth to argue further, realized the trap he was in and promptly closed it. He scowled at his knees. “Now tell me Padawan, do you believe you deserve further punishment for your _actions_ today, or because you are dissatisfied with your appearance.” Obi-Wan paled, shoulders stiffening.

“I am not _dissatisfied_ with my appearance,” Obi-Wan replied tightly. “And if I were, it wouldn’t be an- an excuse to bind my chest this way.” Two spots of colour burned high on his cheeks. Qui-Gon slowly released his breath.

“Forgive me. I spoke without proper consideration.” He didn’t know how to rephrase the question. Obi-Wan drew in slow, calming breaths, reeling in his emotions. They refused to be banished completely, but he had regained most of his composure. Qui-Gon flipped a few switches on the console, checked the displays. The ship lurched into hyperspace. Qui-Gon glanced at his Padawan. His notorious dislike of space travel didn’t seem to make him any worse for wear, excepting that he looked a little paler than usual. But perhaps that was due to his injuries, or even drugs still working their way from his system.

“Forgive me for being indelicate, but your position is rather unique and not one I understand.” Qui-Gon said finally.

“There isn’t much _to_ understand.” Obi-Wan replied levelly. Slow, deep breaths. Abandoned as his ribs caught fire. “People look at me and see a human female. They’re wrong.” He tore his gaze from the stars to look at his master. “Qui-Gon, I’m a man.” There, he’d said it. The words hung heavy in the air between them. Directly contrary to his will, his heart hammered. The bell cannot be unrung. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you,” his mouth was dry.

“I’m sorry you felt that you had to hide this from me,” Qui-Gon replied slowly. “To keep secrets from one’s master is a heavy burden to bear. One you should not have had to. The fault is entirely mine.” Obi-Wan sucked in a painful breath. Better than he’d expected, but there hadn’t been any real reaction yet.

“But Master, what do you _think.”_ Briefly, Qui-Gon tapped two blunt fingers against his armrest.

“It’s unusual, but not unheard of. Even in the Temple.” Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably. “Relax Padawn, we won’t throw you out on your ear if that’s what’s troubling you.”

“But it’s _vanity,”_ Obi-Wan protested, “It’s a distraction and it’s pride and probably obsession and it contradicts the Code.” Qui-Gon made a low noise.

“Enough Padawan. I will not have you play devil’s advocate against yourself. You have a propensity for brooding and self-recrimination that do you no credit. It is _natural_ to want your image to reflect the light within. Many are guilty of vanity, yourself on occasion, but not in this I think.”

“Devil’s advocate would imply I don’t believe it,” Obi-Wan muttered darkly. Qui-Gon’s snort surprised him.

“I don’t think either of us will make any headway in this argument tonight. You should meditate, particularly on the first precept, then rest.” The first precept: _There is no emotion. There is peace._

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan stood and attempted a bow. His strangled yelp was loud in  the small compartment as his ribs voiced their protest.

“Come see me before you sleep. You’ll need a sedative.” Qui-Gon had turned back to the console. Though he couldn’t see Obi-Wan’s glare, he anticipated it. “Something else you need, Padawan?”

“No, Master.” Obi-Wan’s suppressed sigh filtered over their training bond as he turned and left.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh, I'm still not quite happy with this, I might come back and tweak it a little later. Idk these next couple of chapters were Really difficult for some reason (possibly bc making up this plot like as I go doesn't help)  
> Ps. This is a Medical chapter & Obi-Wan gets misgendered and mistreated

“And what nonsense have you been up to?” Ty’ala demanded. Obi-Wan bowed his head.  
“Our adventure on Trasa seems to have left us a little worse for wear,” Qui-Gon responded pleasantly.  
“Apparently,” the Rodian snorted, smearing bacta over Qui-Gon’s injured arm. She bound the injury, antiseptic white against the man’s tan skin. “You can wait outside, while I fix this one up.” She jerked her head to indicate Obi-Wan who was still staring obstinately at the floor.   
He hated the Halls of Healing. They reeked of bacta and just below the veneer of peace in the Force, something darker always lingered. He failed to notice Qui-Gon’s pointed look until his master planted a hand on his shoulder.   
‘Behave,’ Obi-Wan replied only with a carefully innocent look.   
He knew it was childish, but he was glad that Qui-Gon wasn’t going far. He could still feel his master’s presence in the lobby, a steadfast support against the emotions the Halls always seemed to raise in him. At Ty’ala’s request, he removed his shirt.   
He was tempted to reach for Qui-Gon in the Force, but discarded the idea immediately. He was a Jedi Padawan, he did not need his hand held. Still he trembled slightly, when Healer Ty’ala put her hands on the sides of his ribcage. He breathed in the Force with her, felt its peace surround them both. Being Force healed could be wonderful. And then as her presence slid under his shields, something abrupt and ugly disrupted the Force, a discordant note among the singing harmonies. Ty’ala withdrew, blue skin pale.  
“I can’t heal this,”  
Sithspit.   
“I’ll have to resort to something a little more… traditional then. A biomatrix.” He exhaled his discomfort into the Force. “You have three compression breaks. How?”  
“I’m fairly certain I was unconscious at the time. I couldn’t tell you,” His chin held a defiant lift. The first shot went between his mid-left ribs. Pain was irrelevant to him. A body’s signal that something was wrong. Well he knew what was wrong, so he needn’t attend to it.   
“Master Jinn’s transmission mentioned binding your chest.” He watched her prepare the second biomatrix.  
“I think most men find breasts inconvenient.” She gave him a long hard look before injecting the next matrix. Obi-Wan bit his lip. Pain was irrelevant.   
Irrelevant. He could feel the matrix building inside him, grinding bones into place, supporting them. He breathed in, letting the pain gather, letting it wash in and out with his breath, allowing the Force to leech some of it away. She didn’t say anything as she administered the last matrix. The silence stretched taut between them.   
“You’ll want to put bacta on that when the tenderness goes down.” Ty’ala said. Obi-Wan pulled on his loose shirt, grateful that he wasn’t in full uniform. The Healer prepared a jar of bacta while he did so and handed it to him. Her gaze squarely met his as he took it. “Please send Master Jinn back a moment.”  
“Yes Master Ty’ala,” he made to bow, thought better of it and simply inclined his head. Qui-Gon apparently having heard, passed him on his way out, leaving a wave of reassurance in his wake.  
“I understand you wanted to see me,” his pleasant remark, just cut off by the door closing behind him. The tension brewing was palpable. It didn’t require strength in the Force to know a fight was coming. Obi-Wan only prayed he was on the winning side. He fidgeted slightly, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t’ve said anything. This path was unclear to him, steeped in something like passion, like the Dark side, like dangerous places he shouldn’t go alone.   
The healer was of the same opinion. Qui-Gon wasn’t. Their argument was loud enough as to almost allow him to over hear.  
“…my Padawan… my better judgement…” that was Qui-Gon.  
“…dangerous… harm herself…” miserably, he agreed with her, though the pronouns stung.  
“…not your concern.” And then the voices again dipped below what he could hear. Qui-Gon strode through the door a moment later. “Come along, Padawan.” He marched on, leaving a flustered Obi-Wan to scramble after him.  
Qui-Gon walked at a blistering pace. Obi-Wan was almost worried that the biomatrix wouldn’t set properly. Each step sent a fresh stab of pain through his ribs.   
“It would be unfortunate to have to go back after all that,” Obi-Wan said after it became clear that Qui-Gon was deeply absorbed.   
“Padawan?” His Master’s tone was terse, warning. Obi-Wan continued blithely on.   
“And highly embarrassing for me if I reinjured myself from walking too quickly.” Qui-Gon was torn between wanting to apologize for his carelessness and wanting to chastise his Padawan for disrespect.  
“That’s enough,” he replied sharply. But he did slow down. Obi-Wan badly wanted to ask Qui-Gon what exactly had been said. But he’d understood the gist of it. He knew he was the problem being discussed and he knew pestering Qui-Gon about it wasn’t going to solve anything. He gathered the fear in his chest, held and released it, inhaled it again and repeated the process. Even if Qui-Gon believed he belonged in the Order, it was clear others disagreed. And Qui-Gon’s wasn’t the only opinion that mattered.


	7. Chapter 7

Obi-Wan knew better than to try sneaking out of his quarters without an iron clad excuse, but it didn’t prevent him from attempting other evasions.

“If Master Rhala catches you, I won’t bail you out,” Garen’s disgruntled murmur stopped Obi-Wan in his tracks.

“I’m just going down to the archives,” he replied softly, with feigned nonchalance, “I do it all the time. I have a very pressing question about Master Elefterakis’s interpretation of the Code and the complexities of the differences between outer chaos and emotion, as I feel that there’s a very clear distinction between the internal and external states and wonder why he-,”

Garen snorted rudely, interrupting his friend.

“Does that chizzik actually work on Master Jinn?”

“Almost never,” Obi-Wan replied in a cheerful whisper.

“This is a bad idea,”

“If it were truly bad, I’m sure you’d be more involved.”

“You know I’m at much at risk here as you are.” Garen was starting to sound petulant.

“Don’t worry Garen. I appreciate your noble sacrifice.” He made a mock bow in the darkness.

“Only because you’d do the same for me.”

“Likely with less whining.” Garen yanked the blankets back over his head, turning his back on Obi-Wan who snickered. Quickly, he drew his hood up and slipped out the door. The common room was empty. The Force washed gently over him as he inhaled deeply. Master Rhala was sound asleep; he was far enough from his quarters that Qui-Gon wouldn’t sense his intent. That was if he wasn’t actively looking for it.

            His stomach twisted uneasily and he exhaled the feeling into the atmosphere. Of course Qui-Gon wouldn’t be searching for signs of deception. He had no reason to. Tugging his hood down further, Obi-Wan activated the doors. The hydraulic hiss made his senses tingle with imagined alarm, but Garen and his master remained undisturbed.

Moving down the halls, he was almost a part of the shadows he clung to. It was easy to avoid detection under his hood. Very few would disturb a Jedi who obviously desired their solitude without good reason.

            It was almost besides the point, as he encountered relatively few other people. There were many species in the Temple, but despite the difference in circadian rhythms, the Temple’s lighting was attuned to the clocks of Coruscant. Those with incompatible systems respected the rest of others. The Temple had practically been made for this… The thought was a guilty flash across his consciousness.

Obi-Wan scowled at the floor. The mission to Trasa had put him almost a month behind in several classes. Compared to his peers, his lightsaber skills were quite good, but even the hardiest saplings withered for want of rain. Obi-Wan’s mouth was set in a firm line. This thing this… _condition_ wouldn’t stop him from becoming the best Padawan he could.

A strong, thunderous presence in the Force interrupted his brooding. Obi-Wan exhaled his troubled thoughts to the Force around him. _There is no emotion. There is peace._ A mental block would only serve to attract attention. _There is no chaos. There is harmony._ And his consciousness was a leaf spinning on the wind.

Master Windu rounded the corner ahead of him. His robe rippled behind him as he stalked past. A sharp glance. Obi-Wan couldn’t tell if it was one of specific recognition, or of general irritation. He ducked his head, continued on into the disturbed and rumbling Force. Whatever troubled Master Windu tonight, it must be serious.

The halls were hushed, gloom gathering in corners of stone. None of the usual noise came from the training room now. The Force was with him. The salles were deserted. Like a ghost, he drifted to one of the private rooms. They were generally reserved for special circumstances, or Masters, but the rule was informal and unwritten and therefore he wasn’t really breaking it. And anyways, this surely counted an unusual situation.

Obi-Wan slowly peeled off his robe. The careless shrug he normally preferred abandoned in deference to his injury.  His tabards, overtunic and belt, he left in a pile. The soft, clean smell of the Temple was present even here. He inhaled a full, strong breath. His ribs protested gently. It had been over a week, and he’d been trying to help them along with the Force. It would be fine. Everyone knew Healer Ty’ala was overcautious.

He began with a sun salutation, felt the power of the Force move through him as he let himself take root through the polished floors.   
__  
Inhale, exhale  
Inhale, exhale

_Inhale, exhale  
Inhale, exhale_

He stretched up towards the roof, his arms becoming branches, shooting off vibrant leaves. Releasing his breath, Obi-Wan curled into a forward bend, allowed his legs to fall up into a handstand. A small grunt for his mending bones, pain swiftly blurred into Force.

He moved deliberately through the rest of the salutation. His chest was tight and achy, but the feeling was manageable. The salutation could be considered a full training session in its own right, but he’d come for saber training. A light kata wouldn’t hurt. Then he’d shower, slip back upstairs to Garen’s and no one would be any the wiser. 

The kata was the simplest he could think of. Not as much a drill as an exercise in mindfulness. He moved fluently, his saber an incandescent extension of his arm.

 _Exhale. Lunge, not too far!_  
Inhale. Turn.  
  
Exhale. Sweep up.  
Inhale. Back around.

_Exhale. Lunge-_

A roiling disturbance in the Force. Midway through his lunge, Obi-Wan reflexively twisted towards the door. Fire raked up his sides. His saber clattered to the floor. Both knees thumped down a moment later. He bit down on a strangled wheeze. Gingerly, he pulled up the hem of his shirt. His side was a mottled mess, but it looked much the same as it had yesterday. A tentative, shallow breath. It didn’t hurt worse.

 _Just like a mild plasma burn._ He told himself, gingerly feeling his sides. He gently untwisted himself, a short gasp escaping his lips. Obi-Wan rested a moment, breathing shallowly, his arms wrapped protectively around his ribs. It didn’t feel like he’d broken any of the biomatrices , but he had definitely done something. He pushed himself to his feet, breathing almost normally. It was past time to be getting back to bed. He’d only have a few hours of rest as it was, and especially with _this,_ he didn’t want Qui-Gon to sense something amiss. But he’d likely dismiss it as a result of the Disturbance anyways. Obi-Wan swallowed hard as he gathered his things. He didn’t want to deceive Qui-Gon, but what other choice did he have?


End file.
